


Keeping Balance

by Mystradedoodles



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Fluff, Gen, M/M, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-08
Updated: 2014-01-08
Packaged: 2018-01-08 00:28:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 659
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1126204
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mystradedoodles/pseuds/Mystradedoodles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's Greg's turn to plan a date.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Keeping Balance

‘I’m absolutely appalled you felt this was adequate preparation for a night out.’  
‘I didn’t know there was a concert on did I? Should’ve been no problem getting a taxi on a tuesday evening!’

Mycroft shifted his weight against the abrupt slowing of the Tube, bracing against the hanging strap awkwardly. He twisted in close to make himself heard over the screeching of ancient brakes.

‘What a pity,’ he hissed ‘You don’t know anyone in Transport.’  
‘Well I don’t really, do I?’

Mycroft glared down at the sheepish detective, contriving to both huddle close against the shoving of strangers and keep a suitably annoyed distance from his doghouse-bound partner.  
Greg changed tack. ‘At least we’re not caught in the traffic nightmare that the O2 must be in right? I bet people are abandoning cars and walking, even in this weather.’

Mycroft continued glaring pointedly at an advert which proclaimed ‘Mini-breaks for as little as £200!’

Greg glanced guiltily down at splash stained boots. Mentioning the weather had been an error.

A woman with bodyguard of shopping bags was trying to slot herself between them to get out the door. Greg bit down hard on a grin as Mycroft instinctively shifted closer for a moment before pushing himself backwards out of her way. He refused to let go of his death grip on the strap and swung strangely for a moment as he tried not to touch anyone in what was, really, a fairly empty carriage. He moved forward again instantly when the doors shut, clearly not expecting the violent jerk that almost knocked him bodily into Lestrade.

‘Only two more stops.’ Greg remarked cheerfully, pretending to study the station map.

‘I cannot believe the state these are allowed to remain in. There are newspapers everywhere. People cough without covering their mouths.’  
‘I always forget my paper so its nice to have something to read.’

Mycroft paused. ‘Ever been recognised?’  
‘What, from the paper?’  
‘They do print your picture an inordinate amount.’

Greg grinned rakishly. ‘The photographer fancies me?’

‘Or she uses the extras as bargaining chips. Worthwhile office currency, photos of good looking men.’

‘Spoken with experience?’

Mycroft laughed. ‘I may admit to overhearing a few comments relating to pictures of the undersecretary to the Chancellor.’

A grinding screech halted the car and the conversation. They waited in jerky silence as the train moved off again.  
‘I am so glad I didn’t try to pick us a play or something.' Greg mused 'I was so tempted to surprise you with musical tickets just to see the look on your face.’

He looked up with a chuckle and rubbed Mycroft’s arm reassuringly as total repulsion shot across the taller man’s face. ‘Thats the one. Tell me you’re hungry at least.’

‘Starving.’  
‘Thank fuck I got one thing right at least.’

Mycroft’s face softened a little as the train slowed again and Greg tugged his hand lightly toward the platform.

‘You always seem to get it right even when it's wrong.’

‘Is that tortured genius for “I forgive you”?’

‘That depends entirely on tonight's menu.’

‘Surprise rooftop picnic.’

Mycroft froze, just for a moment, total still panic in the rain-dampened crowed.

‘I’m joking. It's Lebanese.’

‘You’re determined to torture me tonight.’

‘Revenge is a dish best served when its my turn to plan an evening.’

They stepped onto the escalator together, Mycroft pausing thoughtfully to watch the flickering screens change in quick succession. ‘I knew you’d not forgiven the note on the fridge incident.’

‘Leaving.’

‘I was leaving.’

‘For work.’

‘You asked me to leave a note when I went out.’

‘Yes, so I know when you’ll be back, I-I’m not going through this again.’

Mycroft leaned forward on the escalator and slid an arm around the shorter man, pressing his nose into the silver hair for a moment before stepping back and turning to face the cool fresh air washing down from the open underground doors.

‘Lebanese will be lovely.’


End file.
